Friday, December 30, 2016

I thought I saw a dog in the dark

What I saw: the other night, I hopped in the car to go get my kids from the train station, and as I pulled out of the garage I thought I saw a small, light-colored dog, cowering under the wheels of our truck.

What I did beforehand: grabbed my spare glasses because I couldn’t find my usual pair.

What I wore: dirty jeans, Birkenstock clogs, parka.

Who went with me: after convincing myself that it wasn't an imaginary dog, I got out of the car and tried to call it; it was too scared. I went back in the house and got some dehydrated liver treats and coaxed it out; it had a collar but no tags. It took the treats from me and retreated behind the truck to eat them. I started to call it "Little White Dog." 

How I will get my next dog: maybe I will get a vizsla puppy in the spring. Maybe I will take in a foster dog. Maybe I will wait until a dog finds me. Maybe my two current dogs are my last two dogs. I used to try to think about things like this, to quell my awake-at-four-in-the-morning thoughts. I'd make contingency plans, based on various disaster scenarios. The year my mom died I learned that impossible things happen, and 2016 has been another year of impossible things. I try not to make contingency plans, believing instead in the ability of my future self to know what to do. 

Why I saw this show: the Graduate was here the weekend before, celebrating the Xmas holiday with us, and he brought along his girlfriend and she brought along her little dog, Snipe. They'd been gone several days when the Little White Dog appeared in the night. The Little White Dog was more stout than Snipe, and had shorter legs, but for one baffling instant I did think that somehow Snipe was still here. Or had come back.

Where I sat: the Bacon Provider went to get the kids at the train station while I tried to lure Little White Dog inside. I wondered if someone had dumped it on our road, the way they'd dumped an old mattress here. 

Things that were sad: I got the dog a dish of water and a bit of kibble and lured it into the garage but when I tried to close the garage door, Little White Dog was startled by the noise and bolted out, into the darkness. 

Things that were not funny: our next-door neighbors have three dogs, a fat foxhound, a rowdy black and white Great Dane, and a small, fluffy white dog. I wasn't sure if this Little White Dog maybe lived next door, though I doubted it. I felt like this Little White Dog was bigger than the one I'd seen next door. I followed the dog into my backyard, still trying to lure it with food. Soon enough the Bacon Provider returned with the kids and we together decided that a car we saw driving slowly by might have been looking for Little White Dog. So we followed Little White Dog down the driveway and down the hill and up the neighbor's driveway. I rang the bell. A teenager answered, with his posse of three excited dogs, and the rowdy Great Dane blasted past, chasing Little White Dog back into the darkness. Some shouting followed. 

Things that were funny: at this point, the slow-driving car returned, and we flagged her down. Inside was an older woman who was looking for the dog. It belonged to her friend, and it had followed her when she drove away. Little White Dog's name was supposed to be "Thumper," though when she called him he seemed as disinclined to join her as he had been to come to me. After some more pointless running around in the woods, I got a hand on him and almost had him when he decided that going back to his owner's friend was better than being chased by me, so she caught him and put him in her car.

Something I ate: too many Christmas cookies. 

What it is: I have owned one dog and two dogs and three dogs and know for certain that three is exactly too many dogs.

Who should see it: you should knock on your neighbor's door and introduce yourself when they move in. I should go knock on my neighbors' doors and introduce myself since they didn't do it first. Maybe next year.

What I saw when I got home: my own dog, Captain, who has such deep feelings.

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